


both times I tried to write Ransom fanfic, but caught literary dysfunction

by xy_lasszxy



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate History, Blackmail, Drugged Sex, F/M, Sexual Tension, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xy_lasszxy/pseuds/xy_lasszxy
Summary: it's hard to write in his voice
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. ransom drugging you with cherry tea (teaser)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's hard to write in his voice

“How do you like your tea?”

He asked simply with a gesture akin to his father’s, a point that he leaned into before recollecting his hands onto the tops of his knees, leaning his elbow onto them as he sat on the armrest of the living room loveseat. Your eyes followed his gaze, a slight smile at the cherry hibiscus tea he had been so proud of all morning. He wasn’t asking rhetorically, he seriously wanted to know.

He reminded you so much of Harlan; his very mannerisms, the way his brain ticked. The interest he took in your review of the local tea leaves he had bought on his way home. Even the very presence of it--it resembled a casual, simplistic yet alluring touch. Something mimicking the neatness of ‘the help’, but not as neat or tidy. You thought it cute. Almost. 

It would have been cute if Ransom Drysdale hadn’t been so particular. Though he never seemed to take an interest, _you_ were the one that prepared his meals. Delivered them on trays whenever he had come to the manor. _You_ had been the one to take his suits to dry cleaning or deliver them to his flat. _You_ cooked, cleaned, ironed, steamed, folded, soaked, brushed, polished, and none of it really was ever appreciated. Well...you guessed, until now. There was a modern and small sugar bowl more in the shape of a white, porcelain box, with sugar cubes stacked upon each other accompanied by a mussel fork of an evidently different dinnerware set, but it fits well for the purpose assigned. 

He couldn’t get the napkins quite right, though he ensured their perfection for his female guests, often passing your work as his own to get a giggle or rise. Two beautifully well-rounded handleless mugs, fit snug on two thicker dinner cloths. A larger pot of tea in between it, with little bowls of honey, two soup spoons, and small dinner saucers. Your lipstick made a stain on the edge of the porcelain, making a wides-set crimson mark where you caught his occasional stare. The tea itself had been local indeed. Being apart of the help had made you a bit of a snob, but there were vanilla notes. Of course, the cherry, with somehow a smoky aroma, a flavorful body, and a lingering earthy taste that left you warm. Nearly half of your cup had already been gone, his cup competing but falling behind by ¾ quarters. 

“It’s delicious.” 

“Oh yeah?”

He smiled weakly at your nod. “Yeah, that’s really good.” You reassured him, letting your laugh escape through your nose. Your laugh matched his, he held his chin and looked down at the floor. When he stood, he began to clear his throat. 

“Where did you buy it?” 

“I visited Seattle with some friends for the weekend and thought I’d come back with something for you.” 

You looked at him with a puzzled look. “For me?” 

He hissed playfully at your tone, balancing on his toes like a child in trouble before scratching at the back of his neck and letting his nervous energy manifest in a stretch. 

“Yeah, I know that we haven’t really gotten off on the right foot. I know that’s because I am a pompous ass.” 

He watched your eyes trail down, smiling at the curve of the end of your mouth. You looked up to see his brows ease. 

“But I want to get on the right foot. So I figured--” He held his hand out to you. “--New year, new me.” 

You stared at his hand, then back up at him, trying to somehow analyze his frame for any breadcrumbs of foul play. When you found none, you smiled, tilting your head. Perhaps the notorious Ransom really did deserve a chance? You started to think. What was it that he could’ve wanted? 

You and Marta had been extremely close. As she took care of Harlan, well, you took care of everything else. While Fran did the laundry, you planted the peonies. You checked the pipes, you called the exterminators, the mowers, and it was a group effort to keep the refrigerator stocked with everything that everyone liked. 

Maybe, he wanted Marta? It hadn’t been the first time he had tried to flirt. You remember catching him as his eyes following her like a predator stalking its prey, its tongue licking over its gaping jaws. But no, he had talked to Marta. Truly, if he had wanted her, he would have her. Not because she was gullible, nor naive. But because she had a heart of gold. And she at times was just too eager to give a second chance. Oftentimes, you two whispered to each other. She, very well as much as you, always knew that there may be a trick or two up his sleeve. Now whether that meant the scorpion was still able to prick the frog was no question. Especially when this hadn’t been his first rodeo. 

And not to mention, how he treated you. When he wasn’t critiquing a fold there or a forgotten crust of bread not cut off here, he was asking you about where something had been. Or, he had been asking you to prepare for one of his guests. Even still, you could feel his eyes on you. There had been one incident you remember quite clearly. 

He had been leaving for the day. You knew this, well, because he managed to disregard the hamper as another set of furniture, loose clothes always on the floor. You always picked up after his clothes, making sure they hit the hamper, clearing anything within the pockets and placing it on his nightstand, cleaning, drying, ironing, folding, etc. Well that particular day, for some odd reason, you decided to clean the bed first. 

The bed smelled of a foreign perfume. You were no expert at these things, but you could’ve sworn this was Lancome. It smelled like the sampling paper from within the magazines you read. You had been dressing the bed in a set of clean sheets, just finishing tidying up the look of the comforter and pillows before you could feel someone staring from the doorway. You thought it had been him, but when you cleared your bangs from your eyes, you looked back in time to see his eyes rolling back up to meet yours. 

“Hugh.” You finished up the bed and turned around to see him. “Can I help you?’ 

He stammered. “Oh yeah, could you make sure to double over the bed with some kind of pillow mist? I don’t want her thinking she’s earned a place there or anything.” 

You forced a smile. “Sure, Hugh.” 

He paused and watched you. “Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“You force a smile. You try to be on your best behavior.” 

You told yourself to behave; to hold your tongue. You disobeyed. As usual. You took the hamper into your hands, beginning to walk past him. 

“I don’t know.” You played off his tone, shrugging. “Wouldn’t want to piss off Daddy’s little Prince, I guess” 

You smiled at your cuteness, lowering your head a bit underneath his arm before continuing. He _hmphed_ , stealing one more look away with a smug smile on his face. If he hadn’t annoyed you so much, it would almost be playful banter. And he had seemingly retaliated with smears of Hershey’s in the bed. The thought of what it could’ve been nearly shaking you before you realized who you were messing with. Besides, he hadn’t bothered to pick up the candy wrapper. New year, new him. What a load of horseshit, but sure. 

You took his hand. He helped you up from the couch, taking your hand and wrapping it in his own. 

“I hope you drink because I have a Moscato D’arti you could die for…” 

You paused, there a sudden feeling turning in your stomach. He stopped, looking at you before pausing. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“I...I suddenly feel off, you know? Just a little ....”

  
  


You fell into his arms, losing the feeling in your knees, your lucidity, your train of thought. He caught you, a playful tone growing from him as his arms wrapped around you. His playfulness was consistent through your moaning, the room beginning to spin. 

He groaned, collecting your limbs into his hold “I got you...I got you.” 

You noticed the newfound confidence in his stride as he walked you two away from the tea set up. Your tongue felt like liquid in your mouth. You managed finally to say,

“You drugged me…” 

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” He laughed gently, juggling you in his hold as he walked the two of you upstairs.


	2. ransom drugging you with cherry tea, ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found this blurb. But it gets worse, so I'll let this be the next chapter

When you came to, you found him looking down at his phone a few inches away from you on the bed. You began to move, his movement slow and unimpressed. You try to move up and begin clawing out his face, realizing that not only were you still a bit slowed down, but he had restrained your wrists and ankles. Catching a few glimpses in a mirror inches from the bed, you noticed you had been gagged with cheesecloth, some of your lipstick staining it. You began to curse him out in what muffled gibberish you could, he holding a finger up to you, finishing a text, and then placing his phone back into his pocket. 

He looked up to see you, lapping his knee over the other and smiling with the same stupid smile. 

“Oh look at what the cat dragged in.” His tone was more matter of factly than anything else. He leaned his forearms against his knees, watching you squirm in your satin cuffs. When your strength was against you, you let your body fall back into the bed. If looks could kill, you would have torn him limb from limb. Alas, they didn’t do shit. Nothing but entertain him even more. 

His smile faded, Ransom, standing up next to the bed, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. He lifted it to your face, you realizing that that had been your phone. You scrambled. 

“See this?” He tapped, turning the screen back towards you, your eyes focusing on the picture. They had been of you; pictures of your lips opened a bit, your neck an accentuating point of the picture, tracing down to the beginning of your chest. His thumb swiped over others--pictures of your thigh folded over; you bottom plump and up towards the air, teased with the blanket that barely covered your knees. Another had been you in the same position, but your lips at the top of the frame, the curves of your body in the background. There had been about six photos total before he looked over his handiwork. 

“Gee, you have the making for a wonderful model.” 

“What happened to wanting to get off on the right foot?” 

“None of that’s changed.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Believe me, we’re starting off on the right foot. We’re definitely going to be clearing up the air between us. 

He stepped closer to you, taking his index finger and dipping it into the cheesecloth, taking the cloth from out of your mouth, letting you growl and swallow spit. You rolled your eyes. 

"So what’s that supposed to be?” 

“These? These are the nudes you’ve prepared for Harlan. See, you’ve always wanted him. But you couldn’t have him. You were a friend of the family. And the age difference...things were too taboo. So you settled for a job working for us, and let your fantasies linger in the back of your mind. But there’s a part of you that wonders, would he be interested? Would you have a chance?” 

You snorted, Ransom snapping to you with impatience. Your words were a bit slowed, but clear enough to speak.

“Harlan? All the men in the house, you choose Harlan?” 

“Go ahead, laugh it up.” He dared, his thumb hovering over the send button. 

“Hugh, Harlan’s not going to believe that. He’s smarter than that.” 

“They’re  _ for _ him. They’re not  _ going to _ Harlan... I hope you and Aunt Linda are that close.” 

You froze. Linda was smart, but she was….impressionable. She would see those pictures, and she would have a festival of kicking your ass now, and trying to understand the story later. But of course by then, you would be unemployed, and no doubt rocking a black eye for a couple of days. She wouldn’t critically think, not like her father. No. She wouldn’t put it past any of the help to try to flirt with him for his money. No matter who they were, or who they thought they were to Harlan. 

Ransom swooned. “Ooh, cat got your tongue.” 

You remained tough. “So what? You’re blackmailing me into having sex with you?”

“Sex? You think that’s what this is?” 

He laughed, beginning to climb onto the bed, his hands wrapping around your wrists and pinning you to the bed, he straddling you, his legs separating yours. 

“Sweetheart, look at me. You think I need to blackmail  _ anyone  _ into sex?” 

He grinded his hips against you in one clean movement, choking you with one hand before whispering in your ear, a moan escaping from your mouth.

“If I wanted to hear your moans, or your gasps of air--you think we wouldn’t be somewhere doing so already? You think you wouldn't be calling out my name?” 

You spoke through your vulnerability. “I have my doubts.” 

He chuckled, a hand finding your mouth and covering it, another clean stroke against your body making you jerk and moan, feeling your body stir. Your eyes focused on him. 

“This is not sex. This is something else entirely. I don’t want to fuck you. I want to _ break _ you.” 

His grip tightened. “I want to drive you insane. I want you begging to swallow my cum. I want you to be on the brink of orgasm and you look up and see my face. I want you to realize that you’re pleading and begging for more cock from me.” 

Ransom turned you over onto your stomach, pushing your hips back into his, and ground himself against you. “I want my teasing to feel like torture.” 

He flipped you back around again. “You’ll have a new job. You’ll still be the help at Harlan’s, but you’re going to report here any time I want, any day--and you’re going to serve me.” 

“And what if I refuse?” 

“Well, when you get it through your thick skull that you’re not in the position to be making any demands,” 

The nudes scrolled through his thumb before he hovered it hauntingly over the send button. He looked back to meet your stare. 

“Something tells me it won’t be long before you make up your mind. You’ll have a new job either way.” 

You looked at him, groaning to yourself. You didn’t have much of a choice here. And whether Linda would understand that these pictures were taken against your will or not, either way, they still would have existed. In the pictures, there was no way of telling. And you two haven’t been the best of buds as late. You would be fired. You would be finding some other job to pay the bills, and it had already been hard living on your own without your parents waiting on your downfall. They decorated the guest room just how you like it just in case you so happened to pick up the phone and tell them that you weren’t independent and you needed help. Was it a decision to make out of pride? Mostly so. Regardless. It had to be made. 

He slowly, leaned down into you, placing a deep kiss against your mouth, and beginning to hold your jaw, his hand traveling down to your neck. He laughed to himself. “Wise decision.” 

He helped himself to your neck, lifting you into his lick, how the end of his tongue ran from the base of your neck to the beginning of your jawline, making you yelp out a moan as he sunk his teeth deep into you. You could feel your body beginning to betray you already. He moaned to himself, looking up to see you. 

“It looks like you’ll keep Daddy’s Little Prince happy after all.” 

He took a handful of your hair, inching you up to his mouth, the cherry on his lips lingering on him. He tasted disgustingly sweet; a juxtaposition to the asshole blackmailing you into being his sub. 

“Can I ask you a question? If I’m Daddy’s Little Prince, what does that make you?” 

He tilted his head to you, you watching his ear perk up and down in a spiteful playfulness. 

“No, no, please--I’d love to hear a wisecrack. Tell me something about me being spoiled? Tell me I won’t get away with this. I love that one.” 

When there was nothing to say, he smiled. “Perfect.” 

You began to chuckle, Ransom beginning to frown. “What?” 

“You...you used a mussel fork to grab the sugar cubes….” Your laugh was weak, muffled and slowed, yet enough to make him enraged. He dropped you, throwing the phone and beginning to tug at his own belt, your eyes focusing on the bulge within his pants. 

“Okay, let’s fix that mouth of yours.” 


	3. ransom blackmailing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always missing a....*sips wine* certain je ne sais quoi

“ _Fuck_ \--Hugh!”

It had been loud enough, abrupt enough to make you pull out a single headphone. For a moment, it sounded as if your mind had been playing tricks on you again. This wouldn’t be the first time that you had heard random noises or caught them since Harlan was an imaginative and creative man--using anything he needed to work on anything he had been writing. But this...this was different. This sounded like…you couldn’t quite put your mind on it. 

You were going to ignore it, but then it just so happened that the gasp, the swoon, the high-pitched _moan_ (maybe?) started up again--this time, right before the next song could begin to truly play. You stopped the music, putting down the bedsheet you had just folded, and began to let your curiosity wander--making sure to put to rest whether it wasn’t Harlan hurt, or in danger, or just needing something. You tried to think as you followed your steps. Perhaps it had been Joni? She had been particularly loud around this time, but then, you remembered that she had dragged Meg to one of her FLAM conferences--but not before she tried to convince you to buy some products on your own. In which you had to convince her that your very strict, *very real* ethnic religion permitted you to only use berries and mud as a skin regime. For someone who considered themselves liberal, she fell for it easily enough.

So it hadn’t been those two. Of course, Walt would be at the publishing house by now--and if he needed anything, he persisted on you using that damned, centuries-old pager. Linda and Richard were somewhere else, of course, but whether together or separate was something you chose to not investigate. 

Jacob--of course, no brainer, in school. Donna probably went out with one of her friends or hosted her book club. Fran was downstairs, and Marta was out refilling Harlan’s prescriptions. In your working through the list, your senses were faster than your thoughts. Your eyes averted, to a perfect match through the adjacent bedroom door--your eyes freezing as you found the culprit of the sound. You and Ransom had made eye contact before you could think to look away. 

There had been a woman, bleached-blonde hair in a mess all around her, she ends stuck to her dampened skin. She had been biting into her pillow, nails digging deep into the bed. After her, or rather *behind* her, there was Ransom--who had clawed into her thighs, making the frame of the bed croak softly with each of his strokes. He had leaned into her, his head rested on her shoulder--his eyes narrowed with irritation, and staring right back at you. 

You knew better to cower before she could open her eyes to see you there. In a moment, you stuffed your ears with your earbuds, letting the music drown out any more noise as you walked back to your chores. 

_You haven’t been able to look into his eyes ever since._

He wallowed in awkward moments--he savored them, just as long as they were at someone else’s expense. He had a field day with you. Whatever you hadn’t said, you had expressed through flushed cheeks and lowered eyes. If he hadn’t heard it, he would have read it from your facial expressions. For instance, the following morning, as you helped in the kitchen and served the family, he had been watching you as you set the table. You felt his eyes, choosing to ignore them. 

“Could I get some?” 

“Wh-what?”

He nodded down to the pitcher of orange juice. You had just finished pouring half of the glasses on the other side of the table, and though you had a few more before actually conveniently being able to reach Ransom, found his eyes--nearly shivered at his wink, and made your way to him in a hurry. 

“Mm. Thank you--” He said scriptly, bringing the glass to his lips and beginning to drink. When you thought he had been satisfied, you began to leave, only to feel his hand pin down yours. You looked back to see him. He had made eye contact with you again, staring you deep in the eyes as patient sips turned into large, endless gulps. He held you there until every ounce had been gone, taking his tongue and licking at the single drop that remained at the corner of his mouth. 

“Damn, that’s some good juice. May I have some more, please?” 

You forced a smile through your anxiety. “Sure, Ransom. One second, I’ll get more from the--” 

“--From the pitcher is fine. Thanks.” 

He smiled softly at your twitching beam. You poured him another, and yet again, the cycle continued, him drinking the glass down fully, licking at the corner of his mouth--taking his finger and swirling it around the top. He had your undivided attention, Fran’s abrupt call snapping you back to your senses. 

“Sorry, hun--I’m coming! I’m coming! Can you get some more orange juice from the fridge?” You turned around, making your way to the kitchen. 

_You could've sworn you heard a snicker behind you._

The other incident was when you were cleaning his guestroom. He hadn’t been around most days--of course. But something about the room recently where he had insisted on staying, though he hadn’t been there for most of the day. You had just washed his sheets, folding them, making sure to smooth out the creases as you made the bed--vacuumed all around the floor. Nevermind the condom wrapper he never thought to pick up. 

You would’ve let yourself be disgusted if not for the abrupt knock at the door. It made you jump, grabbing your chest. When you looked up, you let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Jesus…” 

“Did I scare you? Sorry.” He said, scriptly once more. 

For a moment, you hadn’t realized the scheme. 

“Oh, that’s alright--did you want me to leave--” You looked up to see him, the man still damp from a fresh shower, wet hair formed neatly in a dampened mohawk of sorts--the beads of the shower still on his skin. He wore nothing but a towel, the beginning of his groin hidden barely by the white cloth. 

You looked down, covering your eyes. 

“Oh, shit--I’m sorry. I-I can go--”   
“--No, it’s fine. I’m having company, so it’s best if you’d continue.” 

You slowly uncovered your eyes, continuing to look down at the floor. 

“You got it, Ransom.” 

The towel had barely been a match for the bulge growing within it. It had been hard to not look at--therefore you settled on the floor. 

“Thanks-oh--” Ransom snapped the thought out of his head. “Could you reach underneath the bed for my house slippers?”

You hadn’t commented. You fought past the tension, beginning to reach before he stopped you.

“Oh--they might be _real_ deep under there. It might help to arch your back.” 

You paused, beginning to arch your back--deeper and deeper until you felt your back curved, your bottom raised in the air. You could feel your cheeks reddening. 

“Do you feel them?” 

“No, not yet--” 

“Try towards the back, towards the wall.”

You continued to feel more and more before he hissed. 

“Ah--I see them, they were in the closet…” 

_That motherfucker._

You slowly lifted yourself back to your knees, looking up to see his wink and smile. He clicked his tongue, picking up the hem of the towel, shifting it back up onto his hips. 

“Thanks…” 


	4. ransom blackmailing you, ii

“You’re on birth control, right?” 

You stopped, turning around to look at him. “And who told you that?” 

“Meg--I mean, no one. I overheard.” Again, his tone did not suffice. You cleared your throat, finishing up dusting the end table in the hallway. 

“Yes--I’m on birth control. Why?” 

“I have a friend who’s looking to start on some. It’s better than me having to flush rubbers all the time, right?” 

Your mind blocked the second half of that statement. “Yeah, I have an IUD. It helps.” 

“That’s good. Then it’s going to make this a lot easier.” 

You paused, turning back around to him. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Let’s stop playing games, huh?” 

When there was no response, he  _ tsked _ . “Okay--let me jog your memory. I was fucking some chick in this room, on that bed--giving her the best sex in her life, when you were about to burst in.” 

You tensed, watching the door. You closed it, trying to stop the blood from rushing to your cheeks once more. “I wasn’t going to mention that--but okay.” 

“I saw the way you were watching us.” 

“Jesus Christ--I wasn’t  _ watching _ . I accidentally just happened to look over.”

  
“But you sought us out--” 

“--Yes! Because I didn’t think it was  _ that _ . Now can you please keep your voice down?” 

“Why? You don’t want anyone to know you were watching me fuck--” 

“--Okay.” You concluded. It had silenced him.  “Okay--I was shocked, and I just continued to stare out of sheer shock. That is all. I was just...shocked. If I made you uncomfortable, I am so sorry--” 

“--That’s a word for it.” 

  
“Listen, Ransom. What do you want?” 

“What do I want?” 

“I get paid extra this upcoming Friday for covering one of Marta’s shifts--okay? I can give you that, or my entire paycheck. I don’t care.” 

He laughed. “You think I’d go through all this trouble for money?”

  
“What…” 

Before the inclination of the question could finish, his hand found yours, pulling you close to him. He took one hand, feeling at your cheek, his eyes looking down at your full lips. 

“I think we can arrange something, right? Either that or you get fired for being a Peeping Tom?”

“Harlan wouldn’t believe that.” 

  
“That’s why I wouldn’t be telling  _ him,  _ genius.” 

The thought of Walt, or Linda processing it made literal pits in your stomach. 

“Ransom...you wouldn’t…” 

You looked at him, he looked at you. A brief pause passed between you two before he began to raise his voice. You stopped him before he could start, your hands over his mouth. 

“Shit--okay!” You peeled your grasp from off him, taking a step back. “Okay…” 

You sat on the bed--beginning to loosen your shirt, he stopped you. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You... _ you  _ wanted…” 

“Not now, Sherlock.” He walked towards you, his hand wrapping around your neck and easing you down on the bed by each vertebra. You couldn’t help but let out a gasp as he laid you flat out on the bed. You began to blush, watching his hand as it reached down towards your thighs. 

“You think I’d want you now? In your work clothes? You smell like Clorox and sweat.” 

“...Okay…” You shivered. 

“I’m tempted.” He whispered, looking over your body once more, suddenly patting at your cheek before climbing from off you. “But I’d like to savor this.” 

You collected yourself, your clenched hands around the edge of the bed. You cleared your throat, trying to clear your voice of the embarrassment. How wet you could get, and how quickly, had been truly demeaning sometimes.    
  


“Okay. When?”

He gave it some thought. 

“Tomorrow. I’ll let you know. Wear your best perfume. Your best makeup.”

“You don’t think anyone would notice?” 

“That’s the point.” He sang, walking towards the closet. “Now if you don’t mind--” 

You peeled yourself from off the bed, recollecting the moments and thinking about your situation. 

__

_ Tomorrow.  _


	5. ransom blackmailing you, iii

Joni sniffed the air, nearly making you have a heart attack. “What is that? Do you smell that? Smells beautiful... authentic.” 

She patted Linda, who swatted her away mindlessly as she read her book, Joni following her trail and sniffing until she was face to face with you. 

“Is that you? Wow--and the makeup. That’s a change. Who are you trying to impress?” She giggled, hip-bumping you before walking away. You looked around, finding Meg’s reassuring, soft grin. “You look beautiful--no sweat. It’s just different is all.”    
  


Richard had been staring at you as if you were a Porterhouse paired with an old-fashioned and a blunt. Though you were careful to not meet his eyes, you could feel them burning into the back of your head. Linda took note, returning to her book with furrowed eyebrows. 

Walt had been walking by when he had noticed you. “You look...good. Beautiful. You look very beautiful, sweetheart.” He had nodded to Donna, who nodded in conscious agreement. It had been when you, Fran, Meg, and Marta were chilling when you heard some honest feedback. 

“What’s with the beat, girl?” Marta said, leaned against the wall, impressed, lovely. Fran passed you the blunt, lighting it for you as you leaned in and took a breath. 

“I just thought of doing something different.” 

“You should do it all the time if you want.” Marta smiled, making you honestly feel better about it. A bit proud. 

“Seriously, though,” Meg said--nodding to you. “You look amazing.” 

“Yeah--agreed. You look smoking, babe.” Fran said, taking the blunt back and passing it to Meg, flipping the page of her magazine softly. 

“Although--what happened to your ‘no dressing up for work’ rule, huh?” Marta teased, biting into her lip playfully, the girls laughing. 

You shrugged. “I haven’t been feeling so hot.” 

“So you wear makeup? Damn. That’s a lot healthier than what I do.” Meg joked, the girls laughing again. 

They honestly took your mind off this evening, well, until the time had come. Mostly, everyone had gone home. You waved off Joni and Meg as they headed to your car, nodded to Richard as he said goodnight for the fifth time, to Linda before she began to glare suspicious bullets into him. Marta and Harlan were no doubt by this time of night playing  _ Go.  _

You had been checking your makeup, your eyes--making sure they had cleared. It seemed you had been waiting for hours before any hint at all. Ransom had been gone for the entire day. No call, no text, no message left by Fran or by Marta--no encrypted hidden command that told you where to meet him. 

So you waited, and waited, and waited until a knock had awakened you. You jumped, looking around--looking up to see him. 

“You’re ready?” 

“Jesus, what time is it--where have you been?” 

“Come on…” 

He guided you up, taking you by your hand, and beginning to walk with you. He led you both outside, before taking a cloth from his pocket and ordering you around with the turn of his finger. You adjusted the cloth onto your eyes properly, realizing that you probably should’ve asked before doing so. 

“Where are we going?”    
“No questions. Just get in.” 

He helped you into his car, and within moments after he buckled your seatbelt, you could feel the engine rev, and the car take off into the night. He had put his jacket around you, the wind splashing onto your face as you drove on the highway, the car purring. 

“This is a romantic gesture for blackmail.” 

“Savoring.” 


	6. ransom blackmailing you, iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is where I lost it ,:D

When he finally let you down, you could feel your feet down on the carpet. He took the blindfold off, taking his jacket and hooking it up onto the wall. You looked around to see it, a comfortably-spaced, modern loft--with beautiful interior design, the smell of dinner waiting at the table. 

“Take off your clothes--and put these on.” 

\-- 

You stared at yourself in the mirror--it’s quite alarming how he managed to get your exact size. You wore lingerie, matching garter belt and thigh-highs, eyeing the Louis Vuittons in the closet, disorganized as if recently taken-off. When he found you, he smiled to himself. 

“Aren’t you going to put them on? I saw you eyeing them.” 

“You don’t miss a single thing do you?”

You slid them on, they fit a bit snug, but not too uncomfortable to ignore blackmail. You looked back at him. 

“Any more surprises?”    
“Get over here.” 

You walked over, carefully, slowly-- meeting him before he ordered you onto the bed. He placed you where he wanted you-- arching your back and separating your legs a bit. He took your hair from its ponytail, growling satisfactorily at how it met your breasts and back. 

“Ever get a spanking before?” 

“You know, this is starting to feel a bit  _ Silence of the Lambs _ -ish--” 

You gasped, feeling his hand smack firmly against your bottom, making you tense and your knees buckle. 

“Answer me.”    
“No.”  _ Smack _ ! You hissed, letting your head dip forward. 

“No, what?”    
“No, Hugh.”  _ Smack.  _ You yelped out. 

“Ransom.”  _ Smack.  _ You hissed a bit louder, this one adding some sting. 

“God--what?”  _ Smack. Smack. Smack.  _

It left your body shaking, making you...wet? You began to feel yourself stirring, moistening your panties. 

“Ever. Get. A. Spanking. Before--Be careful what you say next.” 

“No…. _ sir.”  _

He growled once more, rewarding you with rubs-- his hands undeniably medicine against the stings. 

“I can give you pleasure or pain any time I want to, you got that?” 

“Yes sir….” 

“Good. Now let’s give you a name…” 

You could feel him nearby, looking up to find yourself bent on the bed, your curls out, and loud in a mane. You did look pretty good. Behind you, you saw him walk closer, whimpering at the feel of his hands in your hair, his hands around your thigh. You watched yourself in the mirror, looking at his stare beside you. 

“Let’s call you...Peep. Get up.” 


End file.
